Always
by muldy
Summary: 'You're the one who said none of it had to leave the room,' he commented, wording it carefully. 'I didn't think you wanted it to,' she wanted to stop talking. Why wouldn't the alcohol just stop her letting the words come out of her mouth? - Post-Divide & Conquer. Sam / Jack


She couldn't bring herself to go into the house. She had gotten home, pulled out her key and simply sat down on the front porch step, bottle of whiskey in hand.

What was now less than half a bottle of whiskey.

'Carter?'

Great, now she was imagining his voice. She hadn't even had time to process the whole not-being-a-Za'tarc before the Martouf thing had happened.

Oh god Martouf.

She looked down to her bottle and her eyes focused on a figure standing in front of her.

She jumped.

'Sir!' she started struggling to her feet.

He held a hand out. 'Don't get up.'

She slowly sunk back into her seat and he took a seat on the step opposite her, leaning against the wooden pole.

'When did it get dark?' she asked.

'Probably somewhere around the half a bottle mark,' he commented. 'Assuming of course that it was full when you started.'

'It was,' she replied.

Her heart beat a little bit faster, why was he there? Had he come to talk to her about what had happened? Were they actually going to be forced to have the conversation that neither of them really wanted to have?

Was that last part even really the truth?

Her mind was a little too drunk to figure out if she wanted to have that conversation.

But he was there.

Why was he there?

'I wanted to check that you were okay,' he spoke, as if answering her question. 'I guess I was right to.'

'I'm fine,' she replied.

'Carter.'

It was his warning voice. She knew there was no point lying to him, but after everything that had happened that day, discussing any feelings she'd had for Martouf just seemed to cheapen what he now knew about her feelings for him.

'It's not like Martouf was anything more than a friend to me, just the leftover of Jolinar…' she started explaining then stopped, realising he hadn't asked. 'Sorry, sir.'

'You're allowed to have feelings for him. I understand.'

She looked up at him, surprised. Part of her wanted to get defensive, say that yes, she had every right to have feelings for Martouf. But part of her wanted to hug him and cry herself to sleep in his arms.

'I know,' she said. 'But I feel the need to explain why.'

He smiled slightly. 'Carter, you don't need to explain anything to me.'

'I do,' she replied. 'Because of stuff.'

It was her turn to smile.

She held the bottle out to him. 'Please don't let me be the only drunk one, otherwise I'm going to feel really awkward about this conversation tomorrow morning. I've embarrassed myself enough for one day.'

He tilted his head. 'Carter, I had about eight beers before I walked over here. And you're not the only one who had to admit something they didn't want to.'

'You didn't want to admit it?' she asked.

He looked at her, his eyes darkening and his smile fading a little. He was studying her and she felt it unnerve her. They were never this open with each other, they hid behind ranks and duty – those were the things that were important to them.

'You're the one who said none of it had to leave the room,' he commented, wording it carefully.

'I didn't think you wanted it to,' she wanted to stop talking.

Why wouldn't the alcohol just stop her letting the words come out of her mouth?

She picked up the bottle again and took a large swig from it. He reached across and took the bottle from her, his hand lightly brushing hers as he did so.

The electricity shot through her like someone had just stunned her with a Zat and she pulled her hand away.

He noticed.

'Maybe I should go,' he said, but made no move to follow through with his suggestion.

She ignored his suggestion, knowing he wasn't going anywhere.

'Do you think I did the right thing? Shooting him?' she asked quietly, her eyes falling to the ground.

This time he grabbed her hand on purpose. 'He was already dead, Sam. You stopped his suffering.'

Hearing her name from him, his hands clasped around hers, she felt relief for the first time all day. The tears pricked the back of her eyes and she knew there was no way to fight them off for the tenth time that day.

She looked up at him and let him see how broken she really was.

'Thanks, sir,' she replied. 'I actually really needed to hear that.'

'Don't sir,' he said, then quite suddenly he moved across the step to sit next to her and place his arm around her, pulling her in. 'It's better to let it all out.'

He spoke quietly and she understood, he'd been here many times. Jack O'Neill had experienced far too much loss in his life.

For what seemed like forever she cried into his chest as he sat calmly with one arm wrapped around her and the other stroking her hand lightly.

Once she had no tears left to cry she realised they had been sitting in complete silence for close to an hour. She couldn't remember the last time that had happened with anyone.

'I'm sorry,' she said quietly. 'I didn't mean to cry on you.'

'Any time,' he whispered, removing his arm from around her.

She suddenly realised how cold it was outside. 'And to thank you I've made you sit out here in the freezing cold night. Did you want a warm drink?'

She indicated to inside.

He smiled slightly. 'I'd love that.'

She stood up and walked slowly into the house. As she put her key into the lock she suddenly realised that she was inviting her commanding officer into the house and that neither of them were sober.

Which was a dumb thing to care about, given that they had spent countless nights on other planets together, many of them alone with ample opportunity to –

To what?

She opened the door and led him in. The house was entirely dark, she fumbled around for a moment looking for the light switch. Oh yeah she was definitely still drunk.

Light!

She switched it on, almost blinding herself. Looking over at Jack she realised neither of them had really thought through the light situation. She smiled.

'Sorry,' she laughed. 'Tea, coffee, hot chocolate?'

'I don't suppose you have beer?'

She smiled. 'That I do. Also there's a video of the Simpsons already in the VCR..'

He looked at her in surprise.

'I didn't know you liked the Simpsons?'

She pulled two beers from the fridge and turned back to him, handing one over. She considered telling him the truth, that she watched it because it reminded her of him. But she didn't. They'd said enough that day.

'How else would I understand a word you were saying,' she said instead.

It almost said the same thing.

He watched her as she walked to the sofa and took a seat, turning on the television. He hesitated, then took a seat next to her.

A little closer than he had to.

'To Martouf,' he held the beer up to meet hers.

She clinked her glass against his. 'To Martouf.'

They fell back into silence and she pressed play on the VCR. Without even thinking about it, she leaned into him again.

His arm came up to wrap around her.

He laughed a lot as they watched the Simpsons episode. She couldn't remember the last time she had heard him laugh, usually it was him making the jokes and her laughing at them.

It was nice.

Then he leaned his head against the top of hers and she felt her breath catch.

She was holding a beer but she was definitely sobering up, and suddenly the gravity of all of this seemed to be weighing on her.

Literally and figuratively.

She didn't want to move, didn't want it to end, but she knew that if they kept this up they would get too comfortable, too familiar.

They couldn't do that.

She sat up, pulling away from him slightly, and faced him.

'Jack…' she said quietly.

He seemed surprised at the use of his first name. He sometimes called her Sam but she never called him Jack. He didn't say anything but she could read the surprise in his face.

'Yes,' he replied.

'This can't become a thing,' she said firmly.

'If I thought it could I wouldn't have gotten drunk before I came here,' he admitted. 'But I didn't want you to be alone.'

'Why not send Daniel?'

The silence stretched between them for a few moments too long before he replied.

'Carter, this isn't leaving it in the room,' he finally said.

She understood, it wasn't a command, it was a question, an opportunity to get out of the conversation.

So much of her wanted to just throw caution to the wind – some combination of emotions and alcohol was telling her that kissing him was the better option at that moment.

But Sam Carter never let emotions and alcohol win this war.

'You came here, sir,' she replied. 'You let it leave the room.'

She almost saw him locking his feelings back in a box.

Pushing them away.

'I guess I best be off then,' he stood up. 'But If you need anything you call. Understood? I don't want you to be alone.'

She nodded, standing up.

'Thanks for coming, Colonel,' she replied, walking towards the door. 'I appreciate the effort to make sure I was okay.'

He followed her.

'Always,' he whispered quietly as they reached the door.

She looked up at him. 'It has to stay in the room.'

'If that's what you want,' he replied.

He pulled her into a hug and she appreciated it, god it was what she needed at that moment. Strong arms around her telling her silently that it would all be okay.

Then she felt his lips lightly on her cheek.

A simple kiss on the cheek.

And it meant the world to her.

He pulled away and looked her in the eye one more time.

She felt like he wanted to say something else.

But he didn't, and she didn't ask.

'Goodnight Sam,' he said, pulling the door open and walking away.

'Thank you, sir,' she replied. 'Goodnight.'

She stood in the doorway watching him for a moment, then shut the door.

Her house had never felt more empty, but somehow she felt less so.

For the first time she completely understood her relationship with Jack O'Neill, and while it was extremely scary, it was the most comforting thing she had ever felt.


End file.
